


The Improvement Chart

by TittySprinkles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Arguing, Big Bang Challenge, Blood, Cooking, Dissociation, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of it, M/M, Sort Of, Stitches, Trans Dirk Strider, Trans Male Character, and dirk loves it, attempted problem solving, attempted self care, bad habits, earth c reality tv, homestuck big bang, injuries, jake has horrible fashion sense, sitting down showers, some actual problem solving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TittySprinkles/pseuds/TittySprinkles
Summary: Dirk and Jake have been living together on Earth C for a while, and even though they love each other dearly, things have started to get bumpy. Each of their habits are getting in the way of their relationship, so they decide to tackle the problem and get down to the bottom of it. It does not go as expected.





	The Improvement Chart

You’re sitting on your office rolly chair in front of your work table. Your back is hunched over its surface like an especially unseemly gargoyle. The bench that is supposed to go with the table is pushed into the corner of the room. You prefer to be able to swivel and spin occasionally while you work. It’s also way more convenient to roll across the floor to grab a tool or material than get up and walk over. 

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you’ve been messing around with this piece of shit in front of you for at least four hours. What lays before you is the second prototype for an intelligent hand. Intelligent meaning having the ability to collect sensory input information, aka, trying to make a robot feel. It surprises absolutely no one that it isn’t going well. You’re about to rage quit and throw this barely-hand-resembling piece of trash on the ground when you hear a sound. 

Your heart palpitates at the sudden noise, but it calms down when you see Jake’s face in the doorway. What a sight for sore eyes.You hadn’t realized until just now how tired you are and how much you missed him. 

“Oh, Jake. Hey.” You run a hand through your sweaty hair awkwardly. 

“Hello there. What have you been getting up to in here?” Usually, you wouldn’t think twice about such a question. It’s innocent, innocuous, polite even. What’s making you feel cautious is the way he looks at you. There’s not a hint of a smile on his face. He looks like he’s about to scold a kid who ran off in the grocery store. 

“Um, just working on this, uh, thing,” you say. God, pull it together man. Now you just look suspicious, which sucks because if you don't have anything to actually look suspicious about it just isn’t as much fun. 

“Do you know how long you’ve been down here?” he asks. Oh. That’s what this is about. You feel both relieved and nervous at the same time. 

“Um, like, a few hours?” You’re too embarrassed to say how long you think it’s been. 

“Try nine, Dirk.” Shit. That is absolutely not what you had guessed. He sounds pissed too, which doesn’t help your nerves at all. “Have you eaten anything since you came down here?” You scratch the back of your neck and he scoffs. 

“Did you need something?” You’re scrambling for any chance to break the tense silence. Apparently this was the wrong thing to say. 

“Don’t you need something? Food, water, sleep, perhaps? “Jiminy cricket, I asked you to come to bed last night, and you said ten minutes. Then I fall asleep alone, wake up alone, and here you are, still working yourself to death down here like a ninny!” After he says all that, his face and stance relaxes. He sighs through his nose and rubs his eye. Your hands fidget with each other, trying to find something to do. 

“Oh golly, Dirk, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow my top like that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just worried about you. I’ve really made an ass of myself. Come here.” You don't realize your eyes had started watering until Jake pulls you into a hug and you sniffle into his chest. You’re so embarrassed. It’s not like you can’t cry in front of Jake, it’s just that you don’t like to in general. You aren’t even actually upset. It’s taken a while to get used to people talking to you in person, but you haven’t gotten used to people raising their voices. 

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” he says.

“I thought you just woke up?”

“I’m up for sleeping in.” Jake puts his arm around your shoulders and leads you up the stairs. You finally realize how utterly exhausted you are. You’re also up for sleeping in. 

The bedroom is a disaster. You leave Jake alone up here for one day and it looks like a tornado went through it. You’re not the neatest person alive, but you need at least a moderate amount of organization in your living space so as not to feel like you’re going crazy. You have to ball your hands into fists to resist the urge to clean the room right this second. 

“What’s wrong?” Jake asks. 

“Jake,” you start. You don’t know what to say. “I leave you in this house to your own devices for one day and,” you trail off and make a sweeping gesture across the room. Jake looks around as if he has no idea what you’re talking about. “Oh come on! It looks like the dresser lost an ipecac-drinking contest to the closet. I don’t even want to know what the kitchen looks like.” You take a pause and rub your eyebrows regretfully. 

Jake’s eyes flit around the room like he doesn't know where to look. You take off your glasses and binder, immensely relieved to finally be able to relax your chest and breathe. You figure you can bother with actual pajamas later. Jake is still fidgeting awkwardly, looking like he wants to retract into his skin. This is ridiculous. 

“Come over here and snuggle me, you big handsome fool.” Jake visibly relaxes and begins to disrobe with as much noise as possible. His shoes find opposite corners of the room, and his glasses are sat next to yours. When he’s done struggling with the chinese finger trap that is his outfit, he’s left in a tanktop and his boxers with emoji and photorealistic guns printed on them. They’re your favorite of his collection; you despise them. 

After ages, he finally joins you in the bed. You can feel your muscles relax from being wound up for hours in the workshop. You feel achy, but not really in a bad way. You’re mostly just glad to be laying down with Jake beside you, keeping you warm. Sleepiness turns your thoughts into a jumbled soup. 

“Are we okay?” Jake’s quiet voice pulls you out of your half sleep. You try to consider his words for a moment. 

“Yeah.” You squeeze him around the middle. “We’re great. Steady as a ship. The chef’s making his third batch of souffles and the wait staff has already started work on the Champagne glass pyramid. The party doesn’t even start for three hours, but they know shit is gonna be hella smooth for the foreseeable future. Why wouldn’t we be? Everything ok?” You ask him, even though you’re 60% sure you won’t be able to coherently process anything he’ll say. 

“Well, we did have kind of an argument, which was our only conversation at all today. I don’t really like that.” You give a thoughtful ‘hmm’ in response. “You know, this has actually happened quite a few times,” he muses. It seems like he’s going to continue his thought, but apparently that’s all he’s got. Like the dumb idiot you are, you decide to offer practical solutions. 

“Maybe we should fix that. Try to stop doing the stuff that makes each other upset. Break those habits.” You almost don’t expect him to respond, or understand, as you had spoken the words into his shirt. You mostly just wish he would save whatever is bugging him for later so you can sleep. 

“That’s an excellent idea, Dirk! How smart you are, pumpkin.” You wonder for a second if he’s patronizing you, before deciding he’s probably being completely sincere. He pets your hair for a moment before speaking again. “How do you suppose we go about this habit smashing bonanza? Maybe make a chart? I know how you love your charts, or perhaps a graph? I certainly do like the sound of a graph better if I’m honest-”

You don’t hear the rest of his stream of consciousness, because you fall asleep. You stay that way for a good long while. 

When you wake, it’s dark out. Your phone tells you it’s around 5am. The bed is still warm next to you, but empty. You decide to venture into the kitchen, if you don’t find Jake there you can at least get some food in you. 

The first thing you see upon arriving downstairs is Tavrosprite in the living room, sipping from a mug that says, “#1 Mom”. The whole room is cast in a soft blue, gauzy light from Tavrosprite’s natural glow and the sunrise peeking between the gaps in the curtains. It’s amazing mood lighting, for what kind of mood, you aren’t sure. You would compliment Tavros on it if that wouldn’t be really fucking weird. You exchange good mornings with him as you walk past. 

To the right of the living room and a little farther down is the kitchen. You hear Jake in there before you see him. Just as you predicted, there are dishes and silverware everywhere. Something you did not expect to see was Jake washing the dishes. That’s usually your job. You’re too surprised to say anything. 

Then, you notice a sweet smell. There’s a pan of blueberry muffins on the counter. Where the hell did Jake learn to bake? What is going on? 

When Jake turns to put a dish on the drying rack, he notices you standing on the other side of the island. 

“Oh! Good morning Dirk! How are you this morning?” Jake smiles his usual smile, and comes over to give you his usual little morning kiss. It eases you somewhat. 

“Hmm. I’m good. I see you’ve been baking, and cleaning. What has you inspired?” You don’t really want to ask why he’s being so weird outright, especially since he just made you muffins. 

“Well, I was thinking about what we talked about yesterday, and decided I should whip myself into tip-top shape! No excuse for letting yourself go once you settle down with someone eh?” You don't really know how to respond. You don’t think the phrase,“letting yourself go” is really relevant. The only things causing conflict between you two are unresolved issues from the past. You guess you get his point though. 

“And so, to help us out, I’ve put together a handy-dandy chart! Look here.” He starts heading to the fridge. Oh no, you do not want to deal with this right now. “Here is us up here, and along here are things we think we need to work on. And then going along this way, Tavros over there will give us a sticker each day we try to fix our habits.” You suppose it’s a good idea in theory, but looking at it makes you feel like you’re in kindergarten. And you didn’t even go to kindergarten. 

You want to protest, but Jake looks so hopeful about it. His eyebrows are raised in anticipation of your approval. On second thought, maybe this isn’t a terrible idea? At least it’ll help remind you of what you need to work on. You take a closer look at the chart. 

In the top row are your names. Tavrosprite is on the chart too, huh. You look under his column for what he put down. It’s just one row filled in with “gambling.” Okay then. You and Jake each have one as well, overworking and messiness respectively. There’s a whiteboard marker clipped to the side of the little board, and another board underneath the first one with “reminders” written on it. Seems straightforward enough. You have questions, but you’re too hungry to waste more time on not eating. 

“Okay,” you say. “I can work with this.” Jake claps his hands once in response and hugs you tightly. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. 

You spend the rest of the morning together, watching new NCIS and eating muffins. You feel a rare twinge of hope and excitement for the future, now that you have something new to look forward to. The green tea contributes to the warm feeling of contentedness in your belly. 

The next day is like any other, but not quite. You’ve set up alarms on your phone so that you visit the workshop often, but only go for an hour at a time. In your breaks, you exercise, help Jake tidy up here and there, and eat. By the end of the day, your bedroom is mostly clean, you’re in the kitchen with Jake and Tavrosprite instead of in the workshop, and you both have glowing blue stickers on the chart to show for it. It’s silly, but it gives you satisfaction to know that you accomplished something. 

The next day, things are similar. On one of your breaks, you look for Jake around the house, but can’t find him anywhere. You try to message him, but naturally, he doesn’t respond. Feeling despondent and worried, you go to the garden out back. 

Tavrosprite is outside watering the vegetables. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and he looks peaceful and relaxed. You watch him for a few minutes from the doorway before sitting down on a deck chair. The sound of the creaking wood gets Tavrosprite’s attention. 

“Oh, hey there, Dirk.”

“Sup.”

“Uh, how long have you, um, been here.”

“Just came out now.” You wrinkle your nose and hope that he doesn’t catch your fib. He raises an eyebrow at you but doesn’t call you out on it. A minute of semi-silence passes with just the sound of the watering can to fill it. 

“Hey, Tavrosprite.”

“Yeah?”

“Have you by any chance seen Jake anywhere?”

“Uh, I saw him earlier, in the living room, this morning. Then he went outside a couple of hours ago. I haven’t seen him around since then.”

“Hmm,” you hum, thoughtfully. “Do you know if he brought his phone?”

“I don’t know.” Tavrosprite doesn’t turn towards you as he responds, so you assume that he doesn’t want to be involved in whatever is or isn’t going on. You don’t blame him. 

“That’s alright.” You soak in the sunlight for a few minutes before deciding you would rather be inside at the moment. “Was good talking to you, Tavrosprite.” He waves to you as you turn to walk back inside. 

When you walk past the kitchen, the chart catches your eye. You get an idea. There’s plenty of blank habit spaces for all of you, and if there’s a problem, it would probably be best to jot it down. You know, for self improvement, and all. You take the marker and write, “fucking off to who knows where” in the next blank space. It’s a tight fit, but at least somewhat legible. That should do it. 

When you wake up from your three-hour power-nap, it’s 5pm. You figure it’s about time to start thinking about dinner. 

The kitchen is not empty when you enter it. Tavrosprite is sitting on the couch again, watching Grubs and Tiaras. You have to make an active effort to not get distracted by the TV. Jake is in the kitchen, this time making a mess instead of cleaning it up. At least whatever he’s doing in there smells good. 

He seems to be cooking… beets? That’s weird. You don't grow beets in your garden. The kitchen looks like a bloodbath. A slightly more pinkish bloodbath. You wonder how Tavrosprite feels about all of these fuschia fluids all over the place. Probably not much, since it seems like he’s too absorbed in his TV show to pay attention. 

There’s another pan on the stove, which has meat in it. This makes you even more confused. It’s cut into thin slabs, sizzling away in the pan with some onions and baby potatoes, which you do grow in the garden. It looks so delicious that you forget for a moment that you’re supposed to be mad at him. Right. 

“Hey, Jake. What you got cookin’ there?”, you say totally nonchalantly, sliding gracefully onto a bar stool on the opposite side of the kitchen island as Jake. He turns around to face you and you grimace. He’s wearing that stupid goddamn muscle apron again. It’s so horrible. You have to resist the urge to jump his bones right here and now. 

“Oh! Just some venison and toasted beets. I came upon them while out in the great wilds today.” There is- a lot for you to unpack there. Your lethargically simmering anger comes back to a steady boil. You’re tired, you’re upset, you’re hungry, but most of all, you’re looking to fight with your boyfriend. You actually have no idea why you’re getting yourself into this right now. Having a nice dinner with Jake and Tavrosprite sounds like a much better idea than getting into an argument in front of him. You almost let it go and chill the fuck out for once, but Jake beats you to that decision. 

“So, I saw that you left me a little something on our chart today.” Guess you’re really getting into this right now. 

“I saw you left today. Without your phone.” Jake looks at you as if you’re an idiot. 

“I just went for a stroll! It’s a lovely day outside, maybe you would know that if you ever left that musty basement.”

“Oh no. This isn’t about me right now. And FYI, I did in fact notice what a nice day it was when I went looking for you. If you suddenly take off somewhere without saying anything, which you shouldn't do by the way, then at least bring your goddamn phone. What if something happened to you? What if something happened here and I couldn’t get to you?”

“Who are you, my mom?” This really gets to you. Your brain fizzles out for a moment out of surprise and loops back to anger. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Is it such a terrible thing to have someone care about you?”

“That’s not what this is about, Dirk.” He turns around to flip the venison steak. “You’ve just gotten your knickers in a twist because you can’t micromanage me like one of your robots. I’m sick of the fidgeting and fussing! I just need to be alone sometimes. Is that too much to ask?”

“Is it too much to ask for some common fucking courtesy? Huh? So I ask you to take your phone when you leave for long periods of time, or give a heads up, or something. That makes me the bad guy?”

“You know what? Maybe not. But this does.” Jake saunters over to the fridge, picks up the marker, and fills in two of your boxes. Your eyes snap to laser focus on the board. It’s too far away to read it, so you get up and walk over. 

“Passive aggressive”

“Controlling”

That’s it. You snatch the marker from his hands and scribble aggressively on the board. Another box filled in with, “selfish”. Jake’s mouth gapes in shock and he yanks the marker back out of your hand. He hesitates for an almost imperceptible moment before writing “mean idiot”. How immature. You take the marker and start to write, “dumb baby,” but Jake tries to wrestle the marker from you at the end of your petty whiteboard insult, which ends up as a jagged line through the whole board. 

This results in a game of tug-of-war for the marker. You have a moment of clarity, where you realize how ridiculous things have gotten in the past few minutes. You let the marker go, which makes Jake fall back on his ass. He recovers quickly, stands up, and seizes the board from the fridge. 

“You know what? I know what the real problem is. This- this thing! It’s tearing us apart. Well no more, I say, no more!” Jake then brings the board down onto his knee and breaks it in half. You flinch before you can think to suppress it. Your heart races. You feel very small, but you can’t seem to move. Then Tavrosprite comes into the kitchen and turns off the stove. 

“Jake, uh, I don't want to seem rude, or anything, but, uh, that’s pretty stupid.” Tavrosprite’s tone is wavering and mild, as usual, but his face is stone cold. Jake looks like someone just told him that sixteen candles is a more iconic movie than clueless. Which is to say, shocked, offended, horrified. 

“Jake, you are being dramatic. Like, uh, very. It’s embarrassing to watch. Dirk, you need to stop, uh, escalating. You know what will happen when you, uh, you get defensive. You both need to uh, calm down, or something. Maybe, um, eat this lovely meal, that we all forgot about.”

You and Jake can’t really argue with that. Tavrosprite is right, and besides, you feel burnt out, exhausted, and extremely hungry. Some part of you keeps you from going “alright” and fixing yourself a plate. You realize that you’re waiting for Tavrosprite to tell you what to do. Fuck that noise, you’re gonna-

“Now. Shake hands.” You and Jake look at Tavrosprite as if you have no idea what that means. “Shake. Now.” Tavrosprite waves his hand in front of him for emphasis. You and Jake exchange an awkward and confused handshake. 

Dinner is spent silently watching Hive Hunters. You don’t look at Jake, and you assume he doesn’t look at you. Tavros eventually gets up and finishes his meal on the back porch. You and Jake finish at the same time, and you take your plates to the sink. When you make your way to the stairs, Jake follows you. 

“You are not following me,” you snap.

“What?”

“You’re in the doghouse. I’m still mad at you. Do whatever you want, but I’m sleeping in the bed, by myself, alone.” Jake doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. He huffs and plops back down on the couch. 

You feel conflicted. On the one hand, you probably need some space to yourself, and you’re still upset with Jake. On the other hand, you are extremely emotionally tired and burnt out. There is nothing you want more right now than to be held. You tuck yourself into bed, feeling lonely and bereft. 

Sleeping isn’t a successful endeavor. You toss and turn while thinking of the things that were said in the kitchen. You feel guilty about all of it, like it’s all your fault. What if it is all your fault? No, it's not time to play the blame game right now. The feeling that bothers you the most is that things didn’t end right. What if things are weird after this? You can’t let that happen. Things are weird enough as it is. 

In a moment of sheer loneliness and fear, you decide to go downstairs. You try to be as quiet as possible on your way there, so as not to wake Jake. Which is kind of dumb, because you’re going to do that anyway. Suddenly, you feel nervous. You aren’t afraid of him, but you are afraid of how he might react when you make your presence known. The thought of rejection almost makes you hesitate, but you know that you have to do this. 

Jake is sprawled across the couch with a blanket over him. There’s a pillow under his head. He probably borrowed it from Tavrosprite. His face looks slightly pained, his brow is slightly furrowed and the corner of his mouth tips down. You shake his shoulder gently. 

His reaction is not one that you were expecting. He blinks a few times, recognizes you, and immediately pulls you into a bone crushing hug. His breathing is fast and his heartbeat is faster. Must have been some dream. You shift so that your whole body is now on the couch and your upper half is on top of Jake. 

“I missed you.” His voice is similar to a stage whisper. You would say something about how it’s only been a few hours, but the truth is, you missed him too. You hug him back, with both of your arms around his waist and your face in his neck. He pushes you away from his body and holds you at arm’s length before leaving little kisses all over your face. It makes you smile every time, and now is no exception. 

Jake pulls back the covers for you to wiggle underneath. When you wrap yourself around him again, it feels like he fits perfectly into your embrace, and he into yours. You could melt into him right now. 

“Jake, I’m sorry,” you say after a few moments. Jake’s hand comes up to brush the hairs at the back of your neck up before returning to your shoulder. 

“No, Dirk, I’m sorry.”

“Can’t we both be sorry?”

“I suppose so.” Another silence passes. You sigh into Jakes neck and he squirms slightly from the sensation. 

“I really feel bad about earlier. I can’t stop thinking about it. I was getting so angry, and took things too personally when I really didn’t need to.” You can’t help but feel shy when you say this. “I don't want to make you feel like I’m suffocating you. I love you so much, I care about you so much, and I never want you to be hurt. But it isn’t always my job to protect you, because you’re capable, but it’s hard, because I worry about you a lot.” Your voice gets shaky as you go on but you keep truckin’. Jake has to know how you feel. 

“I’m so scared all the time about pushing you away, or smothering you. I’m even more afraid of losing you, or you getting hurt. I never had someone to care about until you and the girls. You’re the most important person in my life, so of course I want to protect you and take care of you. But it hurts so much to know I made you feel like-” your voice cracks and you trail off. Jake squeezes you for a moment and shushes you. 

“Oh Dirk, I’ve fucked up royally, I’m afraid.” He starts petting your hair soothingly, and it helps you relax from where you've tensed up due to imminent tears. “As soon as I said what I said, I realized I didn’t mean it. I should have taken it back right then, but I was too caught up in the moment. I really crossed a line there, and I feel right horrible about it. Like a real unlicked-cub, a complete scoundrel. I’m so sorry. That was a really low blow and you didn’t deserve that.” You try to sniffle as quietly as possible. You aren’t crying yet, but your nose is running. 

“You know how I grew up. My Nanna died when I was young, and for so long I had nobody to tell me what to do, or care about me, or protect me. I thought that I could do everything by myself. Sometimes I forget that I can’t. I’m not used to being cared about. It’s scary. Not to say it goes completely unappreciated. I just don’t really know how to handle it.” He takes a deep breath. “I was very upset earlier, but I understand now. I forgive you.”

This is the straw that makes the camel cry. Ugh, you hate crying. Such bullshit. But Jake just holds you closer as you shake. You sniff once and reply to him. “I forgive you too.” You’re not actually sure if you do completely, but it feels good to say. You feel relieved that you don’t need to be mad at him anymore. Your feelings are still hurt, and you’re still doubting yourself, but you don't feel angry or sick anymore. That’s enough for you for now. 

“Thank you,” Jake whispers into your hair. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You lean up to look him in the eyes. There are no tears, but his eyes are wet. He has on a fond and hopeful smile. His feelings of optimism infect your aura and bloom from within your heart into a great big hope forest through your whole body. You are overcome with feelings of love and adoration for this man. You lean in and kiss him softly, and he kisses you back just as tenderly. You fall asleep to the rise and fall of your synchronized breaths. 

The next week or so passes without incident. On Wednesday, the three of you go out to lunch with Rose and Roxy. You had completely forgotten how much you’ve missed them. You also realized that you have been spending way too much time at home. 

On the following Sunday, however, there is incident. 

You’d been sketching up new blueprints for your intelligent robot design, and you think you’re on your way to a breakthrough. You spend the afternoon in the workshop, sketching designs and tweaking your new hand prototype. The afternoon quickly turns into evening, and you tell yourself that you’ll go upstairs in a minute, just this one last detail, maybe 50 times. You’re on a roll, and nothing can stop you. Except, of course, the need for sleep. 

One minute you’re looking over your sheets, the next, you’re drooling on them. 

When you wake up, you are uncomfortable and disoriented. You don’t remember falling asleep, and you have no idea how long you were out for. Your back hurts like hell, and your neck is worse. Your cheekbone is sore where it’s pressed into the table. You think one of your legs might be asleep. 

There are several different noises happening right now. You stay still save for blinking your eyes, trying to process what you’re hearing. Okay, it’s definitely raining. The steady backdrop of the rain helps ground you. 

There’s another sound though. This one is harder to identify. You hear a crash, a thump, a groan, and the sound of a door opening. That can’t be good. You slowly sit up and stretch your arms over your head, rolling your neck at the same time. When you stand up, your brain comes back online. 

Oh no. That can’t be good at all. 

You nearly trip over your still sleepy legs on your mad dash up the stairs. You bring your katana in case you need to fuck somebody up. You follow your ears to the first floor bathroom, which is just past the living room, facing the kitchen. On the way, there is blood tracked on the floor. Your heart races and your throat closes up. Not now, not the time for panicking. As you near the door, your stomach sinks to your knees. 

Then, almost all of a sudden, you aren’t bothered anymore. You are concerned, yes, but focused. Detached, possibly. You captchalogue your sword as your feet take you to the bathroom at a steady, automatic pace. 

You wouldn't blame anyone if they freaked the fuck out at the sight that greets you behind the door, but you don’t. You’re not a person anymore. You are a machine, a perfect agent of math and precision, and you will do what needs to be done. 

Jake is half-sitting, half-lying on the floor, leaned against the sink cabinet. There is a gash on his right shin. It’s just off-center, and deep enough to see some bone. Jake has a bottle of rubbing alcohol in one hand and a washcloth with the other, trying to dab at his wound. He hasn’t even noticed you. 

He does notice when you take the bottle and rag away from him. “Here, let me look.”  


“Don’t touch it!”

“I’m trying to help. How am I supposed to do that without examining it?”

“I don't need any- ah- help, thank you very, urgh, much. I’ve got this com-completely under control.” He’s panting with the effort to talk through the pain. 

“Jake, your hands are shaking. This is going to need stitches, and you will not be able to do that by yourself.”

“Oh look, mister smartypants, thinks he knows what I can do. What can I do? Well, I can sew. Sort of. Easy-peasy.” He’s getting delirious. 

“You’re delirious.”

“Delirious schmelirious! Gimme that back, please.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“God damn it. No. Now hold still.” You get a clean washrag, pour some of the alcohol onto it, and dab it gently around the wounded area. Jake groans and throws an arm over his face. 

“Ah! Stop! Stop!”

“Jake, I have to clean it, do you want it to get infected?”

“I’ll do it myself.”

“Jake. Listen. I know you’ve done first aid on yourself before. But this cut is huge. It will be much easier to let me do it.”

“Easy for you to say! You’re the one who is all trying to be in charge here.”

“Jake. This is not about being in charge. This is about treating a wound. Stop being difficult.” You’re so distracted by Jake’s protesting that you forget to ask him how this happened. Well, almost. 

“How did this even happen? What were you doing?”

“Um, I was out in the woods, playing with some wolves. They were super sweet! But I was running and I tripped over a root and landed on some rocks.” He looks incredibly sheepish. You give a long suffering sigh. 

“Jake. Honey. Sweetheart. Sunshine. We have talked about this.” You retrieve the hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet and hope he doesn’t notice.

“I didn’t think it would be a big deal! You were in the shop so I figured I’d go for a stroll. I just lost track of time…” Jake hisses when you pour the hydrogen peroxide onto the cut. It fizzles up significantly before settling down. 

“You could have at least told me, or taken your phone.” You pat away the excess liquid from the cut with the rag you used for the alcohol. You press it into his skin to keep it from bleeding too much. He yelps and his whole body visibly tightens up, even more so than it already was before. 

“I- ah, I did, I did take it this time. If you were so-hah, concerned,” his face scrunches up for a second. “Then, why didn’t you-ugh, call me?”

You don’t respond to that. You don’t look at his face. 

“Oh my god.” He says. Shit. “You didn’t even know I was gone.”

“I would have if you had told me!”

“Well you also would have if you’d left your cave. Did you fall asleep in there again? I bet you did.”

“Jake, this isn’t really important right now.” You rifle through the supplies under the sink for the suture kit. You hope the cut isn’t too wide to sew up. Your mind is racing, but your body is still very much on autopilot. Your steady actions and even tone don’t match your words or your thoughts. Part of you wants to wrest control back, but a larger part wants this to not be happening at all. 

“Oh, I think it is!” You found the kit. “I think that this all could have been avoided if you had ventured out of that gosh darned workshop at all today.” You’re crouching over Jake’s leg, sandwiching his calf and the towel with your knees to keep the pressure. While you wait for the cut to stop bleeding like no tomorrow, you prepare a length of black nylon thread. 

“Jake, that is ridiculous. Are you seriously implying that it’s my fault that you got injured on a wolf playdate in the dark? Especially when you said that you don’t want to be fussed over or told what to do?” You lift the towel slightly with your hand to check the blood situation. You’re pretty sure that the bleeding has slowed down enough for you to stitch it up, but you put the pressure back on and wait another minute just to be sure. 

Jake doesn’t respond. Instead, he moans in pain. You rub his uninjured calf with your hand in what you hope is a reassuring way. Then, your hands go to the iodine prep pad in the kit and lift the towel. Okay, guess we’re doing this now. 

“Well, it wasn’t your fault, it was mine. But it does seem a little bit silly to get upset about me staying out late when number one, I brought my phone like you asked, and number two, you didn’t call me because you were so entrenched in work that you didn’t even know I left until I came home.” You thread the curved suture needle and wipe your hands of various gross fluids on your shirt. 

“I don’t think it’s silly, I think it’s completely fair. If you want to be all macho and do everything yourself all the time, then you need to learn how to be responsible.” 

“You need to learn how to be responsi- ah!” Jake’s retort is cut short by the needle poking through his skin. He bites down on his fist and growls. Oh yeah, you forgot. 

“Hold on, I forgot a couple of things. I’ll be right back. Don’t touch anything. And I mean anything.” You dash to the kitchen and bring a dish towel and your decorative bottle of amaretto back to the bathroom. It’s the only booze you have in the house, since no one who lives here really drinks. Maybe Tavrosprite does when he goes out gambling or whatever, but it’s really none of your business.

“Okay I’m back.” Jake is a pathetic sight to see, his hands clenched into fists and his face wild and desperate. Your body reacts only to the mission at hand. If you were yourself right now, you’d try to comfort him. Instead you open the bottle and feed him some liquor. It’ll take a little while for the effects of the alcohol to kick in, so you take this time to massage his anxiety stiffened hands. 

At this point he’s pretty much given up on trying to handle this himself. He’s too overcome by pain to do much of anything at all. You alternate between rubbing his left and right hands back into a semi-relaxed state. 

“You know,” Jake starts. He’s looking up at the ceiling. “I just realized that what I said earlier about you calling me was pretty dumb. However, I stand by the point that spending so much time in that workshop is also pretty dumb. I mean, are you even having fun? The amount of time you spend down there banging out thing after thing is surely nothing to sneeze at.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why do you spend so much time in there? I know you hate being alone, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Because I have to finish this project, obviously.”

“Well, you don’t really have to. It was your idea, and you aren’t getting anything out of it.”

“Of course I’m getting something out of it. Aside from the physical thing I make, of course. I guess I just want to prove to myself that I can do it, you know?”

“Yeah, but, we both already know the genius things you’re capable of. Fiddlesticks, Dirk, you are the most scientifically gifted gent I know.”

“I mean, I guess. But somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. Like no matter how much I accomplish, or create, or whatever, that horizon line of ‘good enough’ keeps getting farther away.” Shit. Now you’ve made yourself sad. Your boyfriend’s leg is wide open for the world to see and you’re venting about your impostor syndrome. Get off your high horse already. 

Before Jake can respond, you give him more amaretto. He’s going to need it for what’s next. 

“Here, bite this if you need to,” you instruct Jake as you put the folded up kitchen towel into his hand. Jake seems tipsy enough at this point to not quiver at the sight of the suture needle in your hands.

“Dirk. It sounds like you’re insecure.”

“Is that surprising?” You finish up the first stitch that you started earlier. You take a swig of the amaretto and thread up the needle again for the next one. 

“No, but see.” Jake raises his pointer finger and waves it around before pointing it at you and letting it fall back to his side. “It sounds like all this stuff we’ve been arguing about, regarding you, goes back to that. Think about it.”

You think about it. 

God damn it, he’s right. How is he allowed to be smarter than you with significantly less blood and more alcohol in his veins than you. But it makes sense. It makes perfect sense. But instead of just conceding, you turn it around on him. 

“Okay, but what about this. Why were you so insistent on doing this to yourself when I first came in?” You punctuate your question with a puncture from the needle. He grimaces, and then puts his ‘thinking real hard’ face on. 

“Because… I wanted to do it myself?”

“Okay, but why?”

“Hmmm. I dunno. I guess I’ve sort of always done everything myself, at least since my Nanna died. When someone else does stuff for me, I appreciate it of course, but something feels, off. Sort of like I’m not doing the best I can do if I have help. Or like I’m making my problems other people’s.”

“Well Jake, I hate to break it to you, but that sounds like insecurity to me.” You’re glad that he paid more attention to the question than what you’re doing right now. You’re already almost done with the third stitch. It needs probably only one more left. Since the area is super sore, the last one will probably hurt a lot, so you give him some more booze. 

“Oh my god Dirk, you’re right. What do we do?” You actually hadn’t thought that far ahead. 

“Well, let’s see. I have hang ups about my worth as a scientist, and in turn a person, and you have hang ups about accepting help and, of course, your worth as a person. So maybe the logical thing to do is spend more time together making each other feel worthy, instead of dancing around and getting mad about each other’s independent activities.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad! I have noticed less of your face around than I used to see, that’s for sure.” Jake pushes the bottle of amaretto in your direction. What the hell, you take a drink. “I think that this could be it Dirk. I really want to make things better. Not that they’re bad now! But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” You smile at him, and it’s the first physical action you’ve felt like was yours since you were in the kitchen. You can feel your whole body again, along with the twisting in your gut, the soreness in your back, and the tightness in your chest. You sort-of pack up the suture kit, leaving the needle to be washed later. 

“Well, first thing we can do under the new paradigm of togetherness is get cleaned up. We are kind of gross right now. I don’t love it,” you say, as you take a gulp from the bottle you set on the floor, amber liquid dripping down your chin. You’re starting to feel it now. “I don't want you to put your weight on that leg while standing in the shower, or completely submerge it in the bath.”

“I have an idea!” Jake carefully peels off his muddy and blood stained clothing and drags himself across the floor to the bathtub with his arms. He looks like a lazy cat traversing a carpet using only its claws. He climbs in, sits up, and spreads his arms, as if presenting you with something. 

“I told you we’re not taking a bath, as nice as that would be.”

“Oh! I forgot the most important step.” Jake leans forward and turns the shower on. He sets it to just above room temperature. “Voila! Sitting down shower!”

“You’re brilliant.” You get in and sit facing him. For a few minutes you both let the water rinse off the bulk of the mess. Then you get a clean washcloth and wipe carefully around the stitches in Jake’s leg. 

“At least that’ll leave a cool scar.”

“That’s so dumb,” you say with a fond smile on your face. 

You both take your time drunkenly washing each other’s hair. You accidentally put too much conditioner in Jake’s hair, so in retaliation he gives you a wet willy. Your rare cawing laugh makes an appearance and you don’t even care. 

After a while, Jake is leaning against the end of the tub with your back to his chest. He holds you around the middle and nuzzles your hair. One of your hands is on one of Jake’s larger ones, and the other is resting on the knee of his injured leg. Your head is turned slightly to the right, resting comfortably on Jake’s collar. 

Soft blue light steadily streams in from the small square window in the upper corner of the wall. Your eyes lazily track specks of dust floating in the ray of light that glides through the room. You feel warm, peaceful, safe. Safe here, lying in a mostly empty bathtub with the love of your life while the sun rises.   
  
This probably won’t be your last fight. It may not even be the worst. You have no idea what the future has in store for you. But you do know what you’ll do from here. You know why things got to where they did. You know how to fix it. You finally know how Jake really feels about himself. But most of all, you know that you will love him until the end of time and beyond, no matter what. 

“Hey Jake?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too, honeybee.”

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give a very special thank you to zoraspot on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/zoraspot) and[twitter](https://www.twitter.com/zoraspot), Ignotus on [ao3](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/IgnotusSominum) and[ twitter](https://www.twitter.com/issoylentgreen), and dragon ascent on [ tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dragon-ascent) and[ twitter](https://www.twitter.com/dragon_ascent) for the beautiful art! Go give them all a follow. 
> 
> I'd also like to thank [EcoFridge](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/EcoFridge) and[ nihilBliss](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/nihilBliss) for beta reading. Go check out their work, they are amazing writers and helped me a lot with this fic.


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